


Almost forgotten

by justmeandmysillystuff



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Retired Viktor, They Get Through It, injured viktor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 14:05:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11359017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justmeandmysillystuff/pseuds/justmeandmysillystuff
Summary: Viktor injures his leg quite badly during a competition, leading to his early retirement and some umpleasent emotions he just can't bring himself to ignore.





	Almost forgotten

Viktor had almost forgotten how it felt.

They say one doesn’t know what they have until they lose it. However, for Viktor, it had been the other way around.

Twenty seven year old Viktor Nikiforov, five times figure skating champion, didn’t know what he lacked until he got it. 

He had assumed he was an apathetic person, heartless even. What other reason could he give to the fact he actually had to force his smiles in pictures? Even as he stood on the podium, even with gold in his hands. He had assumed nothing lasted forever, that dreams eventually wore out. Just like any weed, the ones that grew within passionate hearts had to wither at some point, too. He had assumed that was it, that was life. That feeling of insatiateness, of emptiness, of his heart trying to catch its own tail. He had always thought it normal. 

But one day, as he found himself lying on the couch, scrolling through his phone as always, things were seen in another light. In that precise moment, with Yuuri curled onto the side of his body and breathing evenly on his neck, when the only existing discomfort was the itching wool of the blanket around them… he realized he had been wrong all along.

He hadn’t been apathetic, he hadn’t been discouraged, and he hadn’t been just following a normal someone’s routine of numbness.

He had been seriously depressed. 

Viktor had almost forgotten how it felt. 

He woke up every day to the heat of another body on the bed. The first thing he heard every morning wasn’t the weather broadcaster announcing a sunny day, but a very much warming “hello, Vitya”, and he didn’t even care about the morning breath. When he made coffee, he made two cups. One of them sugarless, with stevia sweetener and a lot of milk. Breakfast wasn’t just about eating the sufficient nutrients for practice, but about listening to Yuuri telling him about some weird dream he had about Makkachin, or discussing their new routines and music choices. 

Skating had nothing to do with how many quads he landed a day, but how many times he could make his husband clap and wheeze in excitement, still not over his phase as a fan. His passion, his art, had found a real meaning again. An ambition. For the first time in years, he wanted to win because of competitiveness, motivation, and not just the inertia of being champion Viktor Nikiforov. He remembered devotion. Every now and then, his head would be free from any voice or sound but the beat of the music and the sliding of his blades through the ice. And he would feel the happiest man on earth. 

Viktor had almost forgotten how it felt.

He had been told time healed all wounds, and Viktor had lived on that promise. When he had been young, barely beginning to realize the vertigo of the tallest podium and the not so shiny side of gold, he had trusted those wise words. And he had waited for time to blow its winds and currents on him again, carrying some sense of relief, freedom, and raising old emotions like clouds of dust. It didn’t happen. Time had stood still, calm. Time brought no storms or scary typhoons for winners like him, but in the end, it didn’t bring anything at all. Time had stopped his curse, and Viktor had stopped feeling alive. 

Time hadn’t healed his wounds in the past and it wouldn’t do it right then. At least, not completely. Doctors had told him after they removed the cast he would be able to walk properly, but that it was for the better if he didn’t force it. They didn’t seem to want to say the words out loud, the truth, what that ambiguous diagnosis meant. And he hadn’t been able to admit it himself until he got home that evening, and didn’t even eat the dinner Yuuri had prepared. He didn’t want to talk to Yuuri right then. Yuuri had lied to him.

“It’s was just a silly fall, love, I’m sure it’s nothing”

“You just need to wait, Vitenka! It will all be back to normal within a few days…”

“…within a few weeks….”

“….within a few months…” 

“Worry not! The next x-ray will be better!” 

“You’ll be back to skating in the blink of an eye…” 

Viktor had almost forgotten how it felt.

He didn’t know if it was the lack of rest, but vigil would feel more unreal than any sprout of a dream he could have before he forced himself to wake up. From the moment his feet touched the ground as he stood up from the bed, reality would lower its volume, its intensity, as if had been diluted in water. 

If he was talked to, he would answer. If there was food in front of him, he would eat. If he got inside the car, he assumed he was supposed to drive somewhere. If Yuuri showed up naked after a shower, and began trailing kisses down his shoulder, he would have sex. Sometimes he didn’t feel those kisses, as if his skin were anesthetized. Sometimes, he wouldn’t even realize when he came. Sometimes, he wouldn’t come at all. There were days in which no matter how much Yuuri insisted, no matter how many massages and caresses he gave or sweet nothings he whispered into his ear, he wouldn’t convince him. Once Viktor had thrown himself onto bed again, his shelter from that numbed reality, he didn’t want any other connection with the daunting outsides. And he didn’t want Yuuri.

Life had turned into an unfocused picture of the world around him.

Yuuri would sometimes worry as he heard him shift during restless nights. He would always comment about the dark bags under his eyes, or about his lack of appetite, but Viktor’s reassuring answers seemed to ease his qualms. He never inquired or pressed further, and within some seconds he returned to his inert role at the backdrop’s blur in Viktor’s life. 

Insomnia helped him avoid dreaming about skating, but he couldn’t avoid it while awake. He was still Yuuri’s and Yurio’s coach, he had a responsibility, and he couldn’t tell the world just how hideous it felt to stand right there, in front of the rink, with nothing but the sound of blades cutting through the ice and his insensate thoughts. How maddening, how distressing. No one would ever understand the way he felt. Because within those moments, as he looked straight into the ice from the aloofness of the solid ground, there were the only times he actually felt something.

“Hey, old rag, are you paying attention??” Yurio bickered, but Viktor barely acknowledged him “Did you see what I just did??” 

He hadn’t, and he really didn’t care. 

“He’s been kind of distracted lately” He heard Yuuri say, not exactly worried anymore but irritated. 

But Viktor wasn’t looking at the frown on his lips as he talked; he was looking at the way his feet twirled and moved on the ice, swiftly, effortlessly, hypnotizing. 

“He’s probably dealing with a midlife crisis” Yurio rolled his eyes, skating backwards, trying to find the perfect angle for a jump “He just doesn’t know what to do with his life now that he retired and he’s losing his hair” 

As he finished talking, Yurio leaned outwards and took off with his right foot. Viktor’s jaw clenched as he saw the ponytail of long, fair hair flaming with the grace of movement, posture lax and graceful, lifting himself into the air. He recognized the movement immediately. The perfect body flew with ease, giving four perfect rotations and landing flawlessly, sliding a few more meters from the mere impulse. A quadruple flip. 

The one movement that had taken him to shatter his knee.

He suddenly felt an acid feeling suppurating in his chest, making him twitch, as if he had just bit a lemon with his heart. There was nausea, sickness lingering at the back of his eyes and nose, making the floor tremble at his feet and the walls look malleable. For a moment he thought he might throw up, or faint, or maybe both. The only thing keeping him conscious was his jumping pulse, threatening to accelerate like a car’s engine. 

“Excuse me” He covered his mouth, walking away of the rink and towards the changing rooms “I need to go to the toilet”

“Uh, what’s up with you now?” He hear Yurio pant, tired from the effort of the jump, as he got himself back to the railing.

But Viktor didn’t turn to look at him. The last thing he saw, as he disappeared behind the door, were the attentive eyes of his husband, escorting all the way out of the room. 

He hurried his pace, walking with long, quivery steps all the way to the toilets. The rink they practiced at was part of a sports center, but there was a separate washroom next to the changing rooms that were just for skaters, and there’s where he headed. He could see his own hands trembling as he opened the door, and he realized just how cold he was when he grabbed the metallic handle and felt it warm compared to his own skin. He clenched it strongly, resting his whole weight onto it as he felt he might fall, his head and his chest suddenly a ton and unbalancing his body, as he placed his palms on top of the counter and let the heaviness of his head drop forwards. 

What was happening? Was he sick? He leaned next to the sink in case he was about to throw up, but he knew he wouldn’t. He knew that was not it. His muscles were all torn between pain and numbness, no blood seemed to reach his limbs and they were tingling, slowly losing feeling, as he closed his eyes and tried not to listen to the sound of the blades through the ice he swore he could still hear.

He seriously considered he might be about to suffer from heart failure, but he couldn’t quite understand if it was speeding up or not beating at all. He thought of Yuuri, finding him there, lifeless. The image was another kick of distress in the gut. His fingers clenched the border of the counter as he tried to even his breath, imagining his husband going through that experience, coming through that door and seeing him dead. 

He was washed over by a feeling of dread, of terror, all the fear and nightmares he had blocked out for months suddenly battling all the way into his organism with a daunting march, heavy feet and loud voices, screaming, screaming loud, but not as loud as the sound of skates cutting through the ice. 

“He’s been kind of distracted lately”

Within the voices and the noise of the blades and the cheers of an inexistent crowd, Viktor could hear him, his husband. He could see his frown, the disappointment on those brown eyes, the same eyes that looked at him from above every now and then, as he sat on his lap and rocked his hips, asking for it, begging for some passion Viktor just couldn’t bring himself to feel anymore. Passion that had suddenly rose from the pits of his unconsciousness, whirling inside his chest like a hurricane and blowing down his entrails, leaving nothing but debris. He was ruins, ruins of a person. A person who used to feel, who used to smile, who used to pour his every emotion into music, and who used to love. He loved, he loved so much. He loved so much he was afraid. Terrified. He was terrified of losing the only he had left, the only memory he had about being a feeling human, happy, and who had it all. If he lost Love…then Life wouldn’t make sense at all.

That fucking injury had taken way too much away from him already. And it was about to take even more. 

He walked backwards and opened a stall, sitting on top of the toilet and trying to catch his breath, feeling no air passing through his swollen lungs. Why was this happening to him? He was a grown man, he was supposed to take the wheel of his own life. But there he was, sinking his head between his knees, trembling, his insides feeling dry and peeling as the whirl of anguish continued to suck everything out of him, draining him, leaving him defenseless. 

He thought he heard a noise, but it was hard to tell with the deafening sound of the skates and the ice still sliding through his brain, and the hammering knocking at his ribcage still drumming his hearing. He couldn’t block it. No matter how hard he pressed his hands onto his ears or rocked back and forth, the screams and the damn noise just wouldn’t go away. 

“Viktor!” 

He would have thought that voice was just another trick of his own mind, but he felt the light press of a hand on top of his shoulder. 

“Viktor, it’s me! Are you ok??” 

“Yuuri” He wanted to say, he wanted to scream, he wanted to shout out for him but he couldn’t even speak. 

“Viktor, everything’s going to be ok. Do you hear me??Look at me, love. Please” The voice sounded calmer, gentler, but he couldn’t obey . Not when his body didn’t responded, and all he felt was the clutch of his own arms around him and the weight of the atmosphere falling heavily on his bones. He shook his head, showing he couldn’t do it, tightening his eyes shut as the world around him seemed to shake. It was only then, when his shoulder started to burn, that de realized that it was Yuuri shaking him “I’m here to help you, Viktor. Look at me” 

He opened his eyes, meeting the cold sight of the floor tiles, shapes blurry and unclear as the pattern wobbled around his vision. He felt a grip on his upper arm and he was forced to look forwards, meeting the fuzzy colors of his husband’s face. He tried to center his sight on the same spot, the bridge of the blue glasses, until the picture began to enter in and out of focus.

When he saw the concern plastered on it, the worry his voice had tried to mask…he couldn’t help but feel a bit relieved. 

“That’s good” There was a warm, callous thumb pressing on his cheek, drying a falling tear. Had he been crying? “Now you have to breathe with me, ok? Come on” 

Yuuri began to take deep breaths and he tried to comply, but as he saw his winded lungs couldn’t match him, he began to cry even more.

“No, love! You are doing good, you are doing good! Relax!” He followed, feeling the soothing caress of a hand running up and down his spine, relieved he could feel them pressing against his inert back “Good! That’s it. Inhale…exhale….” 

The buzz of noises began to gradually lower its volume, and he could see his husband’s face completely, only surrounded by a blurry halo of fuzzing white lights. He tried to move his hand, and he was glad to see it responded. Yet, Yuuri grabbed it in his and stroked it, keeping it in place, as he shushed and whispered into his ear. 

“Shhhh, it’s ok. Just keep breathing for me, ok? I’m going to look for some help” However, as he saw him trying to stand up, Viktor couldn’t help the way he clenched his hand to keep him in place “I’ll be right back, love. I’m just going to get you some assistance” 

Yuuri unhooked one by one the frozen fingers around his wrist, and planted a quick kiss on the top of his silver head before he turned towards the washroom’s door. But as soon as he opened it, he gave a little jump of surprise, staying still, and that’s when Viktor heard the other voice… 

“Why did he take so long??” 

“Yurio, I need you to call the center’s nurse and bring some water, please” 

“What?? What happened to him??” 

“I can’t tell you right now, please go…” 

“But what do I tell them??” 

“Tell them…” Yuuri seemed to hesitate for a second, and Viktor allowed himself to fake surprise as he heard what he already knew “…tell them he had a panic attack” 

Viktor had almost forgotten how it felt. 

That night, after what seemed like an eternity of sitting in at that cramped infirmary, he found himself in the comfort of his bed, lightheaded by slumber and the effects of clonazepam, finally at ease. A warm bath had made miracles, as well as some nice homemade food and some breathing exercises he had been instructed. Now he was just lying there, numbed, but not on the bad way, listening to the beat of Yuuri’s tranquil heartbeat he now found so easy to mimic. He was exhausted, just like after a long day of skating and, ironically, that brought some kind of sick comfort.

He was ok. 

“I’m sorry” he felt the echo of his husband’s voice resound through his chest as he spoke “I’m really sorry, Viktor” 

“For what?” He didn’t even look at him, way too tired to even try moving, medication slowly pushing him into the drowse he knew he couldn’t reach on his own. 

“For doing nothing, you were suffering alone and I was way too submerged into my own worries to notice. I…I kind of thought your change of attitude had something to do with me. I thought you were angry…or that you were getting bored of me…” 

Now, Viktor did fight against his slumber to face him, eyes bugged out with surprise and unmistakable concern. 

“Of course not, love! I could never…!” 

“No, don’t comfort me” Yuuri gently removed the hand reaching to stroke his cheek, and let it fall on top of the mattress as he looked at him in the eyes and spoke “You are the one who’s going through a hard time, and I’m the one supposed to take care of you now. I’ve been too self-centered to notice sooner, but now I promise you and myself that I’ll be here for you, no matter what. You just need to talk to me, ok? I might not be able to cure you, not your leg and not your thoughts. But I will stay by your side, and I’ll do anything within my reach to see you happy” 

Viktor felt his eyes beginning to burn again. He didn’t know if he was crying because he had been forced to acknowledge his own sadness, or if it was because of the smothering love boiling at the pit of his stomach and steaming until his eyes got cloudy. Maybe it was both. Maybe it was the overload of emotions he had forced himself to repress for so many months already. And maybe he hadn’t realized how much he needed them until that moment. How much he needed to feel so loved. And how much he needed Yuuri. 

“I’m sorry too” He mumbled onto the skin of his shoulder, as he wrapped his arms around his neck and pulled him close.

“Don’t be, you did nothing wrong” Yuuri kissed his temple, his cheek, his hairline, any patch of skin he could get his lips onto “I love you, Vitya. Through thick and thin, I’ll always love you” 

That night, they fell asleep together, cuddling and hugging each other close, in a way they hadn’t done in quite a long while. They knew it wasn’t over yet, they knew it would take him way more to get over the accident and get used to his new lifestyle, saying goodbye to his sport for good. But they also knew they were together, that they weren’t fighting alone. And that, no matter how cold the outsides could get, that bed would always be warm.

Viktor had almost forgotten how that felt, too.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a request for my tumblr blog: life-love-and-alcohol  
> See you there if you want to request something and find more of my fics!!!


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